


standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Lisa's life's work does not make God puke, Religion, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: Was Lisa of Lupu damned to Hell for the love of Vlad Dracula Tepes?Well. It depends on what you mean bydamned.
Relationships: Dracula/Lisa (Castlevania)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 149





	standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend

**Author's Note:**

> Today we've got fic for [spins roulette wheel] Castlevania about [draws slip from box] God? Check back next month!
> 
> Title from "Death Is Not the End" by Bob Dylan, though I know it from the cover by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds.

"Hello, Lisa," the man says.

His skin is a warm brown; his beard is long and thickly curled, black marbled in with gray. His hands are weathered, callus-thick. She likes his smile; there's something in it not unlike her own.

Moss is rich and soft beneath her feet; a few steps ahead is a low square of flagstones, green lapping at the edges. It's here that the man sits, in an old rocking chair like any village grandfather might drag into the yard to sit a while. 

Behind him the wall is higher than her head, old gray stone thick with that same moss. It looks warm in the slanting sun.

Moss grows, too, on the weathered gates. Glinting, inset in the dark wood, are faint traces of mother-of-pearl.

"Hello, Peter," she says, and steps forward onto the flagstones. They're pleasantly rough under her feet, and as warm as the walls look.

He inclines his head to her. "It's good to see you, though I'm sorry about the circumstances." 

She can still smell smoke, and scorching meat. At least it's fading.

She nods to the gates behind him. "Are those closed to me?"

"They'll open, if you push." He rocks the chair gently; it creaks. "There's no lock."

"There's a gatekeeper," she says, putting her hands on her hips. "Will you stop me?"

He laughs. "No, child. Go ahead. There is much to know inside."

That draws her feet over the flagstones, of course. She stops, though, with her palms an inch above the pearl and wood. "Saint," she says. "What about my husband?"

He raises his eyebrows. "He lives, after a fashion. He has choices yet to make."

"Say, why  _ does _ holy water burn vampires?" she asks, as her first thought sparks off an old question. "He's as capable of good as anyone, if he chooses." 

Saint Peter shrugs, open-palmed and smiling. "When your son was out past dark," he says, "long after he should be in bed, did you not take his arm and tug him home?"

"Huh," she says, pursing her lips. She'd done exactly that, many a night. Adrian inherited her rotten sense of time, and saw well enough in the dark to say he hadn't noticed sunset.  _ Years _ he got away with that. It’s not a fact she expected to have theological relevance. 

It's not the most important of the questions she's asked today. "So Heaven isn't barred to him," she says. "Not necessarily."

"No," he says. There's a look on his face she doesn't like, half worry and half sorrow. "It depends, as you said, on what he chooses."

She crooks an eyebrow at him. "Can you see what he's choosing now?"

His gaze focuses past her, though she's not sure whether it's to look at Earth or to avoid her eyes. The latter seems unsaintlike. "Right now he is planning to wipe out all Wallachia in your name."

"Ah." She sighs, rubbing her forehead. "Oh dear. If I'd had another few years…"

"Perhaps," he says. "Your son objects."

"Good!" she says. "Good on him. Not that I'm surprised. He's got a good head on his shoulders, and an even better heart. He'll talk some sense into his father."

"He has both indeed," Saint Peter agrees. "You raised him well. Unfortunately, your husband is… disinclined to listen."

"Oh no." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh, Vlad…"

"You sound like he's let dinner burn black again," Saint Peter observes, eyes crinkling.

"No, he was actually very good about that." She shakes her head, drawing her hand from her face. "I don't suppose you allow visitations?"

"It doesn't quite work that way, I'm afraid," Saint Peter says. "He must make his own choices by his own will.” 

"I got to argue with him while he was alive," she points out.

"A vision from beyond the grave is a bit different, I'm afraid. It's hard to argue on equal footing with a ghost." His eyes are sorry.

She sets her hands on her hips and looks the gates over, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I don't suppose you'll know what he's going to do after this. Or that you're allowed to tell me if you do. How long has it been, anyway?"

He spreads his hands. "God exists in all places and all times at once. We do not, but we exist in… a little more than one. You'll gain a sense for it, in time. Say that I can make rather fairer odds than most. And shall, if you ask."

"Do you think he'll make it here?" she asks. "He has a long life. That's time for a whole lot of redemption. Even if he is backsliding a bit." Fairness makes her add, "Well, rather a lot."

Saint Peter bows his head. "It would take a change of many hearts," he says, "for his life to be long after this. And first and heaviest his own. He does not wish to."

She is very, very still for a moment before she presses her hand to her eyes. "Oh, Vlad," she whispers. "Oh, my love."

This time she does not sound like he left dinner burning and his trousers in the middle of the floor.

"This is the only reason I was afraid of dying," she whispers.

"Child," Saint Peter says. "I am so sorry."

She lifts her head, sniffs twice, and blows a decisive breath out through her lips. 

"All right," she says. "Do I have to go in?"

He laughs a little, but she doesn't mind. It's the laugh of someone telling stories at a sickbed. "There's a rare question," he says. "Have to enter Heaven? No, Lisa Tepes. God is not a jailor."

"Someone should tell His church," she mutters, and turns. Behind her a loose stone path slopes down into the woods. It looks peaceful. 

"We've tried," he says. The chair creaks, and then he steps into her line of sight, off at her right hand. "And will again. You choose this, then, Lisa Tepes?"

"Yes," she says. "For better or for worse, to love and to cherish. We left out the end date." Her lips quirk. "And the  _ obey _ ." The priest was confused enough already, and did not pry, only prayed for them. It did not burn, though Vlad didn’t dare try to take Communion.

"Brave woman," he says, with a gentle bow.

"Thank you. I try." 

She sets her feet on the first stone. "Will I be able to speak to God?" she asks. "I assume not."

"Very few of Hell's captives ever try," he says, and strokes his beard. "There's something of a self-selection bias, as I believe you would call it. In your case, Lisa Tepes… I believe you will be able to speak to God as much as you could in life. No more, but no less." His mouth quirks a little. "Not that you did very often."

"That's fair," she says, thoughtfully. "And yet I'm here, aren't I?"

"Until your choice is finished," he says, "yes." He inclines his head. " _ As thyself _ ."

"Also to love God, isn't it?"

"And God is love," he says, "and love is charity, and certainly you have loved charitably. You have a mathematical principle that applies, do you not?" 

"Transitive property," she says, a little absently. "Huh. Good to know."

"Indeed," he says. "Pray, Lisa Tepes. Take that in the spirit of an injunction to write home more often."

"I'd say you could stand to emphasize the love a bit more, but I've had my own troubles with those who won't listen," she admits. "Ah well."

"Neatly understated," he says.

She takes another step onto the path and glances back – not to the gates, only to Peter. "My husband has a friend," she says, "whose faith holds that one day Hell will be empty, and all sinners' atonement done. Is that true?"

"I'm afraid," he says, "galling though it must be to you, even death does not answer all questions. Only most of them. I have gotten the impression that God is still considering the question." 

"Huh," she repeats. "I guess we'll all find out eventually, won't we?"

"That we will." He raises a hand. "Be well in Hell, Lisa Tepes. If the chance arises, tell Lucifer we miss him here."

"I will," she says.

"And you will be remembered."

She smiles at him. "I knew that much already. Good-bye, Peter."

And one sure step and another upon the path. She has someone to meet again.


End file.
